Chain story - - - - NO STUPID LIMITS!

Ok, nuts to the one word at a time and 3 words a time story threads. I present to you, friends, a place to run wild! Write as much as you want! One word? Fine! Hundreds of words? Go nuts! The only requirement is that you have to write something that relates to what has already been written. And maybe try not to be *too *dickish with the handwaving away someone else’s efforts. In other words, try to not start your post with “and then they woke up! it was all a dream” type stuff too many times. Let’s say once per page of posts? That’s not a hard rule, more of a suggestion. If you have something brilliant that requires a dream or whatever, then go for it.

I’ll start.

Chapter 1

Sam the Dracula had a weasel problem. And an orange problem. The weasels were constantly going after his oranges for some reason, even though they were wax, since he only feasted upon the blood of the innocents.

Reinfield was becoming bothersome again, demanding more flies, and following the weasels around, quite annoyingly, to capture the flies that swarmed on their poop.

“REINFELD!” Sam bellowed. “Stop smearing weasel shit on yourself and go find me some innocents to feast upon! I hunger!”

Reinfeld glanced angrily at Sam, his master, and slowly and deliberately ate a handful of fly-laden turd.

Rachel and Rebecca, replete in their innocent finery, strolled merrily along the lane of the small Transylbalkanian town, giggling over some look some boy had bestowed upon them a few moments beforehand, when they heard the well-rehearsed sound of a sick puppy coming from the dark alleyway before them.

Rachel looked down the alleyway curiously. “That sounds like a sick puppy!” she said as she started down.

“Rachel, don’t!” Rebecca called out. “Remember the pamphlets they handed out during feshman orientation?”

“Oh, don’t be silly, Rebecca,” intoned Rachel. “He may be badly hurt!” She began walking towards the sound. Reluctantly, Rebecca followed.

At that exact moment, across town, Dr. Harrison Monroe was finishing up his lecture on Teutonic Sigilism and the Holy Grail. He looked up and felt a tremor in the Force.

Monroe touched his breast pocket to be sure the vial of Holy Water he always carried was still in place. He dismissed his class, and sat at his desk, contemplating his next action.

“Where should I start?” Monroe asked himself under his breath as he mindlessly started yet another game of solitaire.

The vibration of his smartphone shook Monroe out of his almost self induced trance. Apprehensively, he stared at the number on the screen, and horrified by what he saw, he knew, without needing to answer, that he had very little time to act.

Springing to his feet, Monroe grabbed his tweed jacket with leather elbow patches and was about to head to the door…but…that damn Ace on the screen was there…taunting him. Mocking him. A few more clicks won’t hurt, will it? Sitting back down, he was determined to finish this one…last…game. Then, TO ACTION!

The last game didn’t go as he hoped. But he was sure he would win this next game, he could feel it this time…

three hours later

Lucy, Monroe’s slightly overweight assistant kicks open the door to Monroe’s office.

“What the hell are you doing!?! I texted you hours ago!” She yelled to Monroe’s great surprise and embarrassment. She was mad but she was already in her armor and held his armor out to him. “We need to get on this, NOW! Where’s the key to the lab? We’ll need The Device.”

Monroe awoke with a start, and rubbed his eyes. Thank goodness, it had all been a dream, and a very strange one at that. He didn’t know which part was stranger – Reinfeld and his weasel shit fetish, or Rebecca & Rachel and their altruistic attitude towards…

The chair shook again. “MONROE!” Lucy shouted. “Are you listening to me? We need to get The Device from the lab! I texted you hours ago!”

Oh crap, it wasn’t a dream! Which means his friend Reinfeld really does enjoy smearing weasel shit all over himself…

Monroe accepted the sword, strode to the doorway, and punched in the code that would open the door to the device, a garlic infused with holy water and silver nitrate bomb that would take out vampires, werewolves, and most unholy monsters.

Reinfield leapt up, and pressed the chloroform cloth against the innocent girl’s face. He realized there was another girl, and tackled her. He pressed the chloroform against her innocent face too, and dragged the unconscious young women towards his master.

“I bagged a couple fresh’uns fer ya, maaaster.” He hissed is a way that Sam could never quite tell if it was sarcastic or not. “Plus a few more of these damn things.” throwing two pamphlets titled The Horrors of Transylbalkanianton into the garbage that was already overflowing with pamphlets. “What a waste of paper” Reinfeld mumbled to himself.

However, what Reinfeld didn’t realize, was that one of those papers held an ancient code that up until now had remained unbreakable, but it’s dark secrets had the power to change everything.

Rachel awakened on a bed with the still sleeping Rebbeka lying next to her. A strange little man sat next to a window, nibbling on something. He held a handful of spiders. He offered his hand to her. “Want one?”

Alarmed by the bright orange restraints holding her down (which definitely clashed with her outfit), Rachel tearfully but innocently asked, “Oh, Mr. Man, whatever do you plan to do with us? We have never done anything to you.” And, after a moment’s pause to deliberate, “Is the puppy all right?”

Reinfield belched. “Pardon me” he muttered. As Rebecca began to stir, Rachel noticed two small wounds on her throat.

“Are…are you a vampire?” Rachel begged.

Reinfield smiled with a shit-eating grin (literally) and replied, “Oh no, not me. That was my pet weasel Rossie.” Reinfield held the baby weasel tight in his arms, scritching its throat and occasionally checking its diaper.